


( un amour doux. )

by makarov



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, coffee shop AU, more fluff than i've ever written for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makarov/pseuds/makarov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Requested by Audrey over on Tumblr! <br/>She wanted a little something like this: <br/>"CoffeeShop AU in which Loki owns a sweets/bakery/whatever the fuck and Nat comes in, every day, and orders the same thing: a dessert and a black coffee. She sits, drinks her coffee, and leaves the desserts untouched [though she pays for it] Loki can't figure out why and confronts her about it, and she admits that she only came to see him every day. Cuteness ensues."</p>
            </blockquote>





	( un amour doux. )

Loki had never been particularly fond of sweets. The rest of his family, albeit his adopted one, harboured sweet tooths that could level ten candy stores and then some, but him? He liked his food bitter, occasionally salty, and had no taste for confectionery or the sugary baked goods that lined his mother’s pantry shelves. It was all disgusting, quite frankly, too thick and consistent for his sensitive, persnickety taste buds, though, ironically enough, he found the act of creating such devilish delights to be strangely satisfying. Cooking in general was a hobby he often found himself entertaining, especially when it came to baking and culinary artistry - a guilty pleasure, of sorts. So, while his dolt of a brother attended university to do nothing but throw a ball around, he went straight for the culinary arts, despite his father’s disapproval. He’d never approved of anything creative, and wholeheartedly stood by Thor’s displays of strength and sports ability; Loki’s cooking on the other hand, not so much. In the end, and after several years of study, Loki was finally able to open his own business, a small cafe on New York’s upper east side he’d  called  _Étoile_. It was slow going, at first of course, but eventually life there seemed to blossom, and after only a year subsequent to its opening, Loki owned one of the most popular hot spots in New York City, serving everything from his own hand made pastries to the sweetest foreign candies, delicate drinks and elegant, fresh baked bread. As much as he personally disliked the taste of what he served his eager customers, Loki was ecstatic, and more than pleased. Hell, even his customers were fantastic - or, as far as he could tell they were. He could hardly be found socialising with those who visited the cafe, leaving all the talking up to the few employees he’d hired on to make his job just a little easier. Just like sweets, he wasn’t all that keen on people either, and he often wondered how he held down a business like his own.

Over time, he’d come to notice the few who frequented the cafe. Of course, hundreds of people visited the small shop on a daily basis, but there were that select few who came each and every day, just to have a taste of what he had to offer. Some tried something new each day, he could tell by the hasty, familiar scribbles of orders handed to him by his waitresses, and some had the same thing. One person, in particular, did just that, and the only reason Loki had taken them in such high regard, is because they never finished what they came for. Each and every day, said person would arrive at exactly 2:30 on the dot, order a cup of coffee - straight black, no cream or sugar taken - and an  _Or Noir_ , one of Loki’s most expensive and delectable desserts. Truth be told, Loki didn’t end up personally making some of his pastries and confections, instead having experienced chefs do so in his place, but some, if not quite a few, he felt he simply had to, and the  _Or Noir_  was one of them. Each time that person ordered one, he took the time to make it from scratch using nothing but the freshest and best ingredients, and in the end, it was beautiful, nothing short of a piece of art, but much to his dismay, they were never eaten. The coffee would be finished off, and the plate returned with the _Noir_  still sitting atop, untouched, and it angered him beyond belief. He worked so hard to provide such a delicious and wonderful cake for his customer, and what did he get? Wasted effort. It wasn’t even until weeks later that he actually caught a real glimpse of the person; a woman, lithe and graceful with soft features and a head of crimson waves that cascaded down about her shoulders like ringlets of blood and ruby. She was Natasha, a quiet one, as a waitress had explained, and always seemed so put off if anyone spoke to her, even to take an order, and Loki could see that as he watched her one day, from behind the counter. She ordered her cake, her coffee, sipped at the stuff when it was delivered, and once again never touched the other, leaving promptly at 4:00. The next day she returned, and Loki watched, and the next day, and the next - it was on the last day, a Friday, that he confronted her. He didn’t even let a waitress take her order.

“A cup of coffee and an  _Or Noir_ , right?” he hissed in that elegant accent of his, eyeing her critically as he approached the tiny little niche in which she always sat without fail.

“That’s right,” she replied easily, her emerald hues ascending to meet his own. She seemed unphased by his anger, and at that he couldn’t help the grim smile that traced his lips. He ignored her.

“I want you to tell me why you come in here every day, and make me waste my time making pastries for you, only to watch them come right back, and have to be thrown out,” he was gripping the edge of the table then, and she seemed to go rigid, if only slightly. The fact that he was having some small effect on her, pleased him. She deserved it. “It’s difficult, pet, it really is, especially when I put so much effort into doing what I do, only to have it be thrown back in my face. Tell me,” he leaned in. “Are my efforts not good enough for you,  _Natasha_?”

“I’m not a fan of sweet things,” Natasha explained, averting her eyes, though he could almost tell it was more out of embarrassment, as though he’d just discovered some deep dark secret about her. She'd even declined to comment on the fact that he somehow knew her name. “I just wanted an excuse to see you every day.”

Now  _that_  caught him off guard.

“What?”

“I know you make all of it. I always see you back there, behind the counter and working so damn hard on those sweets. I can tell you don’t like them either, and you like people even less, but you work so hard,” she gave a shrug. “I like you.” After she’d finished speaking, he found himself speechless, stepping back to study her. There was something strange about the woman, about this Natasha, but oddly enough, now that he got a good look at her, he felt himself drawn to her, despite his initial anger. “I’d like you to make me another, please,”

He was hesitant, but without another word, he disappeared behind the counter, and back into the kitchen where Natasha watched him work from afar once more. She didn’t miss a single beat, a single movement, and before she knew it, he was presenting her with another  _Or Noir_ , and the most beautiful one she’d seen yet.

“Will you sit with me?” She asked, and he nodded, still silent, taking a seat across from her and then watching as she ate the entire thing, happily; he loved that she did. Before long, however, he finally spoke, a smirk forming, teasing.

“So, you like me, do you?”

She chuckled, a cute little thing, no longer so put off and stoic, “I think I do. You’re - different,”

“You’re rather _strange_  yourself,”

“Hey, I never said strange,”

“We both know what you meant, darling,” With that, he stood, taking the empty plate from where it’d sat between them while they sat in each other’s company a moment before. He moved toward the kitchen yet again, discarding the dish in the sink before returning, though when he arrived at that little niche, he found her seat empty, nothing but her usual pay and a little note left in her place.

 

> _Thank you for the cake, Mr. Laufeyson._ ( She knew  _his_  name as well, the sly woman. )  
>  _I honestly regret not eating it before - it was delicious.  
> _ _Sorry I had to dash, but duty calls, and by duty, I mean I have a whiny bird to tend to.  
> _ _Save my spot for me._
> 
>   
> _ps. I still like you, even if you are kind of an asshole._ ❤  
>  _~ N._

She continued to return every day after that, admiring him from afar, even after they’d been together for years. They both found a new love for sweet things.


End file.
